Yellow Ladybird

Last week as we were loading into the car after a triple-kid doctor appointment (we're all much better now, thank you for the well wishes), a mom in the car next to us was unloading her three children, the oldest of whom was about 8 and in a wheelchair. Both Katherine and Clara watched intently as the mom settled her son into his chair. By "intently," I mean staring and captivated. 

I smiled at the mom as I would any other mom with three kids and then went about putting mine in their carseats. But I wondered, what does that mom want me to do about my kids staring at her kid? What does she want me to tell them to meet their curiosity about her son? What does she want me not to do or say?

As I was buckling them in, Katherine was silent, but clearly thinking about the boy. So I asked her, Katherine, do you have any questions you would like to ask me about the boy in the wheelchair? At first she hesitated and shook her head, but then she asked, Why was he in a wheelchair?

Me: I don't know. Maybe he came out of his mom's belly a little too early and his muscles don't work properly. I'm not sure. 

Katherine: Can he walk? Or talk?

Me: No, he can't walk, but he can talk. He might not sound the way you do when you talk, but he probably talks just as much as you do and I bet his mom has to tell him to talk more quietly when his little sister is sleeping!

Katherine: What else does he do?

Me: I bet he loves to read - he looks like he's 7 or 8, so he is probably learning to read at school. And I bet he likes when his mom and dad read to him before bed.

Katherine: Does he sleep in his wheelchair? Can he get out of it?

Me: He sleeps in a bed and he can sit on the couch or play on the floor.

Katherine: Will I be in a wheelchair someday?

Me: No, you won't. Your muscles work properly.

Katherine: Oh, ok.

Me: Do you have any more questions? I'm happy to talk to you about this and answer your questions.

That balance between answering their questions, but not providing more information than they are asking for, or are ready for, or can handle at one time, is tricky. And questions like that aren't usually the ones you can prepare for. I didn't know why the boy was in the wheelchair, but I thought that Katherine needed some sort of simple explanation. And of course I can't promise anyone that they won't be in a wheelchair someday, but at her age, she shouldn't have the burden of worrying about the turns life can take, and so I just answered, no. 

Katherine seemed satisfied with the conversation, but I do wonder how to raise children so that disabilities are simply accepted and do not cause a barrier in making a connection with someone. 

Anyone have any experience or advice in this area that they'd be willing to share?

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​I've noticed a trend when I post about books that I love...

... the imagery is beautiful.
​... this book has beautiful images.
​... also, the artwork is beautiful.
​... beautiful artwork.

​I think it's safe to say I often choose a book based on its illustrations. Given the artwork in children's books is so important to me, I thought I'd share my thoughts on the kind of artwork I love and why. 

One quality I like is for the artwork to be vague and open-ended... more like a prompt to create an image than a pre-made picture. Just as imagination is the child's work in play, it is also the child's work in listening to stories. Giving a child space to imagine a character or a scene allows him to make it what he needs it to be to be relevant to his life. 

But the artwork doesn't have to be vague to inspire. I love these pictures - even though they are well-defined, they still allow one to imagine movement. That is, they are not outlined in black ink with a shallow, still feel to them (i.e., Dora, Thomas the Train). They have depth and beauty.

And then there is artwork that is done through different mediums. I love the creativity and work that went into creating these.

Finally, there is artwork that ​is just plain awesome. David Wiesner's Art & Max, for example.

What are some of your favorite illustrators?​

Life is not a dress rehearsal.

My dad has been saying this for as long as I can remember. It isn't related to children or parenting, but it sure is relevant to life in general. Perhaps more and more so as I see  how each major life decision narrows down the possible pathways my life can take from this point forward. When I was 24, my future was wide open - the person I would marry, the career path I would chose, and the kind of family I would have, none of it had been decided. Once I committed to graduate school in language acquisition, it pretty much ruled out graduate school in any other field, and once I married Dave, it ruled out marrying anyone else… and so on. Not that one can't change a career (or husband), but it is much less likely to happen, and because I decided to spend my late twenties in school, it means I will never have spent my late twenties hiking the Appalachian Trail. 

While this may all sound depressing, this saying has guided my life in a very good way… like our move to Vermont. Dave and I have always wanted to raise our children in the country, closer to family. When our oldest was approaching school age, we realized this is it, there would be no do-over of where we raised our children. As we weighed the pros and cons of taking the leap to move to Vermont, I could hear my dad saying, "You know, life is not a dress rehearsal…"

Other favorite sayings:

A toy should be 10% toy and 90% child.

Boredom is the best gift you can give your child.

It is better to be 100% with your child 5% of the time than 5% with your child 100% of the time.

There is no such thing as poor weather, just poor dressing.

"It was not my finest parenting moment…" 

I hear this a lot. I say this a lot. An admission of guilt for not having handled a situation as we might have wanted to, for not having reacted with the grace and wisdom that we are trying to impart to our children. In the Waldorf world, there is a lot of talk about "being worthy of imitation." Given that children are great imitators, we should strive to model the behavior we want to see in our children. I interpret this to include everything from basic table manners to values such as tolerance and kindness. It is a huge responsibility, being worthy of imitation, and it is challenging. I don't have trouble chewing with my mouth closed or modeling respect for others, but I do struggle to maintain a calm, collected demeanor throughout the day while taking care of three small children. I admire Katherine and Clara's teachers who achieve this grace with such ease, but I question the feasibility and desirability of parents modeling ideal behavior all of the time. 

In an ideal world, no one yells in anger, or uses exaggerated sarcasm to display irritation, or stomps about to express dissatisfaction. In an ideal world, impatience would be suppressed when a child dawdles while getting ready for school. But in my reality, after telling my kids to help me clean up the playroom for the third time, I sometimes snap at them in a tone filled with irritation. When my six-year-old interrupts me repeatedly to ask me to help her with something right now, even though I am in the middle of doing something else and have asked her kindly to wait, I might burst out, full of exasperation, "Katherine, stop! I said I will help you when I am done." When I can't take one more squabble over something as inconsequential as who gets to wear the pink slippers, I threaten to take the slippers away and never ever give them back. Not my finest parenting moments. I certainly don't want to hear my kids use that exasperated, irritated tone with me or with each other, or with anyone else for that matter. But to be fair, their behavior can be really annoying, and in life, really annoying behavior has social consequences.

Functioning in society requires gauging others' communicative cues, such as tone used to express irritation and exasperation, and then perhaps adjusting one's behavior accordingly. Part of raising children means preparing them to function in society. Therefore, it would be unnatural for a parent to strive to hide or suppress a natural reaction to annoying behavior.

I do not mean to simply excuse or justify less than ideal behavior. Nor am I proposing that because my children will encounter poor behavior in the world, I'd better prepare them for it my behaving poorly myself from time to time. I firmly believe it is important to treat children with kindness, warmth, and dignity, and I believe parents are role models for children and that responsibility should be taken very seriously. But holding ourselves to the standard of always being worthy of imitation is not realistic, and unwavering calm and control - to the point of masking natural human emotions - may not serve our children well. And therein lies the balance between striving to be worthy of imitation and allowing ourselves to be real.

There will be many "not my finest parenting" moments. But instead of reliving them through admissions of guilt to our friends at the end of the day, we should accept them as part of the learning process for ourselves as parents, and for our children who are learning how to behave and how to process others' behavior.

A toy should be 10% toy and 90% child.

I love this quote and have found it to be so true. The less a toy does, the more my children play with it. The less defined a toy is, the more it is incorporated into their play in different ways. Cardboard boxes, ropes, blankets, and kitchen bowls are the true treasures. 

I am continually surprised - or maybe impressed is the word - at how fluid children's play is and how their props morph right along with them as they move from one scenario to another. A blanket starts out as a blanket, then turns into a sled to pull a little sister across the floor, then serves as the roof to a fort, then becomes a cape - no, a bonnet, for a fairy, then is used as a sack to carry pretend food, then is turned upside down and tied to the pretend food to be dropped from the top of the stairs as a parachute… and on and on.  

A bright red fire truck, complete with ladder, lights and siren? It can only be a fire truck.

Boredom is the best gift you can give your child.

I just wrote about boredom a few weeks ago, and recently I have heard parents claim their children are bored in kindergarten. I wonder, and maybe even roll my eyes a little, how could a child be bored in kindergarten when their day is filled with play, crafts, stories, music, snack, walks, friends and many other activities? 

It turns out that this "boredom" is not boredom at all, but rather "restlessness," which is a sign that a child is ready to move on to first grade. Who knew?! In a parent evening at Katherine's school this week, the teacher discussed the physical, behavioral and developmental indicators of first grade readiness. The following description was included on the handout under the heading Development of Intention: Dissatisfied with themselves - not sure what to do with themselves - may react with "I'm bored."

Ohhh. This is restlessness, which is not the same as boredom, even though the word boredom may be used by the child (or parent) to describe it. So I'll stop my eye rolling now when I hear of kindergarteners who are "bored" and start observing their behavior to see how exactly this restlessness presents itself in their play and activity. I have a feeling it will be fascinating.

I have been in DC this past week for work. I love Vermont, but it has been a great joy to wander around my old neighborhood, visit with friends and see their children, and stop in my favorite store and coffee shops (yes, one store, many coffee shops). When I walked by our old playground, I was flooded with memories. For some reason, one in particular stood out. When Katherine was three and a half we went through a phase when leaving the playground was very difficult - as in she never wanted to leave and the four block walk home was torture. I remember feeling paralyzed - with Clara in the wrap, the backpack heavy with water bottle, snack, spare clothes, diapers, etc., and a crying child who refused to walk, what could I do? 

As usual when I face a child challenge, I think about what Katherine's teachers would suggest. A song. Sing a song. Something simple and rhythmic that will calm us both, center us again. The song that was in my head that day - the "Puffer Belly" song, as we now call it - got us home. For months we sang it every time we left the playground… and we made up dance steps to go along with the words. Katherine loved this routine. I had to get over my self-consciousness of singing and dancing down the street, but it beat carrying a kicking and screaming kid all the way home. 

In case you have a three-and-a-half-year old who refuses to walk at inopportune times, here is our song and dance routine:

Down by the station (swing hands forward)
Early in the morning (swing hands backward)
See the little puffer bellies (kid does a twirl at "puffer belly" under mom's arm)
All in a row
See the station master (swing hands forward)
Give the starting signal (swing hands backward)
Puff Puff (stomp each foot once)
Toot toot (do two little hops)
Off they go (run forward several feet together - drag this out and run as far as possible to get home faster)

We tried making up other dances to other songs, but this was always our favorite.

It is better to be 100% present with your child 5% of the time than 5% present 100% of the time.

This saying is always a good reminder for me to take a time out from my to-do list and just sit down and do something with each child each day. I don't always manage and it is a constant challenge to balance the pull to get things done and the importance of being present. I admit I get plenty of 100% time with Alexandra. Every time she nurses, I stop and just sit with her, touch her little hands, look at her round, soft face and marvel at my little baby (ok, clinging to the "little" part). I love that time. It's harder with the big sisters since they are as busy with their play as I am with my agenda, but I love when I do take the time to really be with them. 

This evening I snuggled up with Katherine and read the first chapter of Little House on the Prairie. She is fascinated by the covered wagon and the big sky forming a huge circle around Laura and her family as they travel west across the plains. 

It was the best 5% of my day.